RPlog:When It Rains, It Pours
This spaceport is rather more diverse than some, seeing as it's on the New Republic capital, and certainly it is more welcoming to strange characters than oh, say, Coruscant. However, there's a _very_ strange character roaming around some ships that look like they would be better suited to a junkyard or a modern art exhibit than a dark, starry backdrop. It's a quarren, who looks rather the worse for wear, stumping around on one good leg and one peg leg as he surveys the hull of a real clunker, sticking his face very close to an extra-large spot of rust. He is followed by a little chadra-fan, who is watching him like a hawk, as though he is about to make off with it. As though he could stick it in his pocket. After a moment, the quarren turns to him, towering over the diminutive alien as he says, "And yer askin' how much fer this? 'Cause I wouldn't pay ye with a wad o' me own spit." A calamari comes up to Jack holding a datapad full of the latest used ship ads. He, too, is tailed closely by a small chadra-fan. When Bill approaches the quarren, the two rodent-like aliens chitter to each other in their own language, pointing at their two customers and shaking their heads. "He say, 'That is a very nice ship,'" one of the two Chadra-Fan 'interprets' for their customers. But Bill is not interested in what the Chadra are talking about, and says to Jack, "Look at this picture, here! Me can barely believe they be the same ship! This be the ship before it flew into an asteroid field, mayhaps!" Diverse indeed, and though Coruscant did indeed once boast a far more extraordinary hustle and bustle, and myriad of sentients as the New Republic's capital than Ord Mantell and New Alderaan now does, many of the same figures and business types that once graced that city-world now grace this one. As such, Twi'leks from abroad move in and out of the starport keeping a lookout on the comings and goings of various sentients. Usually the types these brooding, secretive agents seek is that of the seedier variety. It just so happens the Chadra Fan selling used freighters in the public arenas an example of those the Twi'leks from abroad like to keep an eye on. Poachers, as Eson likes to call them.. underworld traders who creep in on a territory, sell junk good and then disappear again, leaving the reputation of the black marketers in the region to suffer while the trader pockets a sizable profit. Where these Chadra Fan and their junkyard freighters are concerned, the Twi'leks who consider the black markets of New Alderaan their personal affair have seen fit to do some quality control. "Ye be right about that, matey!" Jack says, slamming his fist against the hull. Even this blow, hard for a sentient but soft compared to a stray asteroid, manages to make an impressive dent to match the lovely red spotted appearance. One of the chadra-fan squeaks and screeches with ire, but Jack doesn't seem to concerned about this vandalism, except to be outraged that one would be expected to pay money for this ship. "What d'ye take us for, chum?" he asks the chadra-fan translator, pushing back his hat so that it does not fall off his head, ill-formed for such things. "We weren't born yesterday, ye know, an' we know a fair piece abou' spacefarin' as well as seafarin'. If ye don't have nothin' better ter show us, we'll be on our way!" Bill is already on his way, shaking his head. "This be a wild bantha chase," he calls over his shoulder. "These dealers be as slippery as a greased dug! We should just wait t' see what the New Republic says. They be our best bet!" But Bill knows that the Captain only listens to him a about half the time, and the other half Bill is either proven wrong or waits for a while until Jack decides that Bill was right. Regardless, Bill finds a bench in the spaceport and sits down, closes his eyes, and waits. From a pair of macrobinoculars a green skinned female Twi'lek peers at the deal going badly for the chadra fan. She sits mounted on a swoop in the distance and smirk to herself. Well it wont be difficult to run these poachers out of town this season, their goods are so obviously junk it is unlikely they will get many bites from the consumers. Then again, there are plenty of impoverished Coruscanti refugees who might be desperate enough to chance a space trip in that thing, and pay what little they have saved for it as well. She lowers the macrobinoculars and touches an object connected to her ear. "Sayla'kor here. The Chadra-fan's have some peculiar guests today. Have you checked out that peg leg? Talk about low tech, even for Quarrens." of course, Quarrens are as high tech as most of the sentients in the galaxy, but the sentiment is valid. If anyone its Twi'leks who suffer from only recently developing an interest in technological progress and space faring lifestyles. "Spacers from the looks of them.. might be worth meeting one to amke a few sales, or to find out what neck of the woods they hail from." The quarren gives his first mate a decisive nod, "That's fer true, Bill. Blast! Ye know how ol' Jack hates ter wait." He waves of the little chadra-fan who's pointing at the dent that he's made in the hull and then to his pockets, presumably to make him pay for it. Although it probably wouldn't even be worth it due to the condition the ship's in. With a heavy sigh, the quarren begins to walk away, scratching the side of his face with his hooked tentacle. "It figures that I won't be in charge o' me own ship," he grumbles, but he looks more worried than put out. After all, it's all he knows. Sayla'Kor guns her swoops throttle, the repulsor whine loud and echoing off the a nearby tower. Quickly she accelerates toward the broken down YT-1300, lekku whipping slightly in the winds. A muttered curse under her breath signals a private note to remember lekku dampeners next time she rides, an occasional bug to the lek is painful indeed. It is not long before she approaches the hulking Quarren and his peg leg, now that the deal seems to be off regarding the Chadra-fan trader. Brings the swoop to a halt near the mottled grey and pink skinned Salty Jack and silently is taken aback by his gritty persona. Its not that she has never seen a Quarren up close - she has just never encounter one as overbearing and gruff as this one. Opon her expression however is a sabacc face, and eyes narrowed toward the Chadra fan - a clear warning, and the small fellow would know who the Twi'lek represents.. he has been harassed by them before, claiming this as their territory. A softer expression is then afforded Jack. "In the market, stranger?" she quips, a smirk cresting her face. "You'll not find a safe deal with this lot, of that you can be sure." The arrival of the twi'lek on the swoop brings Jack out of his momentary reverie, and he turns, regarding her with an appraising look. "As it were," he says, a slight grin turning up the corner of his lipless mouth. "Why, ye sellin' one?" His tone is jovial, but there's a clearly suspicious undertone of one who's not used to anyone being so up front. "Aye, I figured that out meself," he says, chuckling at her last statement as he gives one last glance to the rusty horror that was going for '50,000 credits - a steal!' "Seems ter me there's no one trustworthy on this bureaucratic nightmare o' a planet. Did ye come here ter tell me any different?" His brow ridges raise as he crosses his arms over his barrel of a chest, awaiting her reply. His mouth tentacles wave slightly as if in a light breeze, the hook at the end of one catching the light every so often and glimmering dully. Switching the repulsor engines to a low hum so as to talk more privately without shouting over its din (though still engaged as to make a quick getaway if need be) Sayla'kor says, "There are those of us on this rock who take a measure of pride in doing honorable business, stranger. Though the starport is the last place you will want to begin your trek. Lowfair is not fine on the eyes, but it houses a far more apt, and far less bureaucratic market. If it is a ship you want, so be it.. though I'll warn you now, only mid to high quality freighters with mid to high price tags do the Twi'leks trade." "Well, there ain't no harm in lookin', now, is there?" Jack says as he pushes his hat back from his eyes and settles it on his head once again, reaching a hand into his pocket absently. He leans back, looking almost as though he's about to fall over from the odd balance his peg leg affords him. "Can ye take me ter this 'honest' shipyard, me lovely lass? I'd be much obliged ter ye. Ol' Jack doesn't know his way 'round this rock just yet." The air he gives off now is that of a somewhat doddering old grandfather, his smile innocuous to the point of hilarity. Sayla'kor casts a triumphant glance at the Chadra-fan trader and simply nods to the towering fish man. Reaching into the folds of her swooper's jacket she produces not a blaster, but a datapad, which blips and bleeps argumentatively as she taps in a few commands. "A speeder is enroute to show the way. If you require it, a ride will be supplied." the datapad disappears once again. The green skinned woman gives Jack a once over with her eyes, the lekku opon her head writhings slightly in unconscious expression of her thoughts. If the Quarren could understand the gestures of her mind he would know that she finds him intriguing, and reminds her of some of the non Twi'lek associates she deals with on a daily basis when offworld. "You a refugee from Coruscant?" she asks offhandedly as though she doesn’t really care.. the truth is its her job to find out such things. "Nay, lass," the quarren says, chuckling to himself at this question, for whatever reason. Maybe he just like to laugh. "Nay, I'm only here fer a new ship. Me old one was eaten by a great space beast!" He lowers his voice for dramatic emphasis, leaning a bit closer to the twi'lek so that he can be heard above the hustle and bustle of the spaceport, "'Twas a terrible horror, terrible. Its great tentacles snapped me ship in two! The Freedom Fish, me life!" His eyes are becoming a bit unnaturally bright as he says this, his voice choked with emotion. "Me 'n' me first mate barely escaped wi' our lives, an' we lost our Polly! Our beauteous bird!" He wipes under one eye with a tentacle, though not the hooked one, to catch a solitary tear. "But I s'pose it's time ter get on with life, ye know. I'm achin' ter sail the stars again, that's fer true!" The sabbacc face returns. Anyone who is talented with reading sentients and their body language might deduce that whenever the sabbacc face arrives on Sayla'kor it is because she is hiding something - in this case sheer uncertainty of what to say or how to react to the news. Her inner thought from the left is that the Quarren is lying. From the right is the thought that he just has a screw loose. And then she thinks back to when she met those three spacers deep in the outerrim who had spent a little too long in the dark depths with a flatlined hyperdrive. Sayla'kor nods. "Yes, it is best." Sayla’kor adds shortly thereafter, "To move on with life, that is.. best to move on." she nods again. The quarren gives the twi'lek a decisive nod, as though he feels she's given him some very sage advice, and says, "Right ye are, me beauty, right ye are. Jack's the restless sort; can't be tied ter one place fer too long, or he'll start ter go mad." Though in some people's opinion, including Sayla'kor's, he probably already has, so it's really too late to save him. But then he rubs his hands together, becoming strictly businesslike. "I hope these ships're as good as ye say. Seems t'me these 'civilized' planets are hardly that, if ye can't even get an honest deal." Long story short, it comes to pass that Salty jack is taken to the Zhao System's compound where several YT-1300's, a reoutfitted Trader's Triumph and a battle ready TELGAS sit in the courtyard. The airspeeder lands with a swish and its doors automatically open, beckoning Jack into the lavish square. Sayla'kor jets into the area as well on a swoop from the main doors from Lowfair, and parks it abruptly, swinging a leg off and hopping to the ground. She approaches Jack. The disembarkment from the speeder is not quite the walking the park for Jack as it is for the agile twi'lek. First, there's the matter of his peg leg, and he manages to heft that over the side. Then he gets his other leg over, turning his body so that the good leg is in position to support him on the way down, and he drops onto it heavily, holding on the the edge of the speeder for balance. All and all, it doesn't look very graceful, but then, nothing about the quarren is particularly graceful. He turns as Sayla'kor starts walking toward him, beginning to limp toward her as well, looking around the courtyard as he does so. "Quite the place ye got here," he comments, taking in the opulent, or, one might even say, ostentatious adornments. "The Twi'leks of New Kala'uun take pride in their heritage, Mr. jack, as they do their business practices. Come, there are a few vessels here which may interest you." she motions toward several YT-1300's being fueled and maintained by an assortment of pit droids, astromechs, Twi'leks and Humans. Each ship appears to be in excellent condition, and devoid of any hull markings or signatures. By their hull color and emissions it is evident they are currently in service, not sitting idle for some undisclosed amount of time. "So I see," Jack says noncommittally, continuing to gaze about, taking in all the surroundings and filing them away for a later time. Or because he just hasn't seem anything with quite as much largess in a long time, it's hard to say. Either way, he turns toward the ships to examine them, looking much more satisfied with these than with the ones that he had been shown before. "Ye were tellin' it true, lass," he adds, walking right up to one of the freighters and tapping its hull with his hooked tentacle. "And how much're they goin' fer, eh?" "Well now that depends entirely on you, Mr. Jack." says the green skinned woman, a new tone entering her voice. "There are far more valuable commodities than credits in a galaxy consumed by warfare and survival." Lekku ripple with thought and adjust as she adjusts her stance to lean against a pole and cast a solid gaze at the Quarren. He was in her court now and there would be no surprises. "You are no ordinary star sailor, stranger. I'v known a Quarren or two in my day and most are as stuffy and entrenched in the Republic as an old X-wing. What is your story aside from lost starships and dead birds?" The last question gives Jack a slight pause, though he still has the look of a kindly old man, if that man was a quarren. He spreads his arms wide in an all-encompassing gesture, and shrugs, "Me story? Well, it's naught ter interest ye, I'm sure. Not much different than many o' the other ones in the galaxy," he continues, and it's hard to tell if he's being purposely evasive or if he actually means what he says. "I been sailin' among the stars fer a fair few years, pickin' up a few trades when I could. Ye could call me a...businessman, o' sorts." He lets out a laugh at this, "I have dealin's in a few things." A slight smirk crosses Sayla'kor's face as she leans against the pole. There are a few others who have taken interest in the exchange between the Twi'lek woman and their new guests, some of whom have freshly arrived from Lowfair, likely scouts who were working with Sayla when she originally spotted the large Quarren. Suffice it to say, while she does not know the truth about Jack, she certainly does not take him for a friendly old Quarren. "A few dealin's." she echoes.. "Might that your dealings are under the table. Dirty shirts, peg legs and hooked appendages rarely make for a respected businessbeing in legitimate circles.. At least not in these parts of the core, Mr. Jack. Let me be as straight with you as possible - I have ships that need piloting, and dealing that need attended in my own right, and I want experience behind the controls. Something may be worked out between us. Unless of course you can afford a multi thousand grand down payment outright." She would bet good credits he cannot. Despite what the twi'lek may be thinking, Jack's demeanor doesn't change much, and he simply nods agreeably at he assessment of his finances. "That be true enough, lass. I was hopin' fer something that goes fer a bit less." He shrugs a little, "But Jack doesn't tend ter like answerin' ter no one, and even less when he doesn't know who he's answerin' to." A slight edge appears to Jack's features now, and his voice is still jovial but there's a hard undercurrent which probably wouldn't go unnoticed by such an observant one as his current companion. The human known by few as Ehlias Cross is quite new to this side of the galaxy. He is new to this planet and to this particular criminal organization, but he by no means 'new' to the game. Ehlias knew is role as a low level thug, one who would be counted on to think on the fly, and trusted beyond measure. He was smarter than your average muscule, better looking than your average con artist, and had a dirtier mouth than your average freighter mechanic. For now, however, the human just walks slowly through the estate. Learning the layout and all the exits. Meeting a few of the other 'family' members, and putting the charm on just about any female or any species. His sharp brown eyes catch glimpse of a quarren speaking with a twi'lek. "Dirty squid-faced bottom feeders..." He mutters on his breath in low basic. His tone one of annoyance more than anything directed at the race. Now she was getting somewhere. The edge that enters the Quarren's tone is like a tiny crack in a hard eggshell, threatening to reveal information about what trully lies underneath the surface. "As I said, Mr. Jack, The Twi'lek's of New Kala'uun. Where one is concerned, all are concerned. I am Sayla'kor, but I speak for my family. Rest assured that we too understand what it is to make one's way in the dark of space. Know too that we understand the value of cooperation in such endeavors." Sayla'kor stands straight now, abandoning her lean to on the pole. "We do not work with strangers from the streets until they have proven themselves worthy. Our own worth depends on it. But heed my words, if no deal is brokered between us this day, you dare not poach in our turf, if poaching is indeed your game." Sayla turns to glance at Ehlias as she says this, her eyes flashing dangerously to the Human indicating that his presence is appreciated should anything go wrong. The Twi'lek woman would be hard pressed to challenge the Quarren should the interaction prove dangerous. The quarren doesn't say anything for a moment, the smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, and his gaze roams around the courtyard, falling on Ehlias as he seems to be patrolling the grounds. He chuckles a bit to himself, turning back to Sayla'kor and saying, "Well, I don't make deals wi' invisible spirits, no matter how comely their mouthpiece." He gives her a wink, leaning back precariously as he continues, "So, why don't ye tell me plain what it is yer offerin', or ol' Jack'll be on 'is way." The aliens eyes reach out to Ehlias for only a second then it turns back to the woman with a laugh on his face. A subtle sneer crosses the humans features in return as he decides to take a moment and eyeball the two while they converse. No doubt the quarren had legit business here, or else he would not have been allowed on the grounds, but he wasn't liking the look of it. With a slow motion he pulls one of his finely crafted vibro-knives from his jacket, slipping his index finger into the ring attached just under the blade's guard, and begins to twirl and spin the weapon in his hands. His movements are clam and seem to be done almost unconsciously. "As though inviting you into the den, allowing you a look into the tip of the iceberg is not transparent enough, Mr. Jack, but I appreciate your apprehension when encountering unsolicited deals. I believe we have discussed enough for today. Know that careers are forged and destroyed at the behest of the Twi'leks of New Kala'uun. If you wish to know of our reputation, simply walk the streets of Drosshill.. or visit the beaches of Etti IV's largest continent. Until you return, I bid you farewell. And shall keep a freighter well stocked and swabbed. There are of course more than freighters in our employ, but it is best to start small." "A'right, then, lass," Jack says, cordially, not pushing the twi'lek to say anything more than she already has; he knows when to fight and when to walk away. "Thank ye kindly for yer assistance, and I'll be thinkin' on yer offer." His eyes flick to the man doing knife tricks, and he raises his voice slightly, "Ye best be careful there, mate, an' see that ye don't hurt yerself." He turns back to the twi;lek, sketching a slight bow and tipping his hat, a movement that might look elegant on a dandy but on the gristly old quarren looks almost mocking, though it's probably not meant to be. His gaze rises to meet the human's eyes once more, but his words are for the lady as he says, "Per'aps we'll meet again." With that, he turns and begins to walk toward the entrance, though his gait is slow and most anyone could catch up to him if they were so inclined.